Part Two of Two

 The following post was composed over the last two weeks of December and the first two weeks of January, 2012 melting into 2013. 13, a significant number.

Good evening my friends, may the rumored peace of the recent giving season have found you, somehow.

Somehow.

"... Lately I've been stayin' at home
(Stayin' at home, stayin' at home)
Workin' the crosswords, turn off the phone
(Turn off the phone, turn off the phone)

And I dream I'm on vacation
'Cause I like the way that sounds
It's a perfect occupation
For me
I don't mind being by myself
If there's no one else around
It's the last good time in town ..."

The Eagles Long Road out of Eden   
Last Good Time in Town

Frantic is the word I would use to describe the people on the ground full on consuming globally-produced trade goods hammered together as fast as humanly possible more often under inhumane conditions. Frantic is not a kind state, it is a state almost without any realistic thought of others' situational states of existence other than how such supposed and taken for granted states press self-imposed deadlines the frantics adopt in the act of gaining approval from others they suspect are expecting some material something from them.  Now, WE know approval is never gained through deadlined offerings, attempting to increase your approval rating is an unnecessary, alien act anyway, you are either already appreciated as the person you have shown yourself to be or you are not.  And more, the best giving usually isn't gift-wrapped, especially if it is done through that extra gouge at the checkout, bare-bones, logo-imprinted, ribbonless, cheapskate gift boxing service so common everywhere.  Do Robots do that in the megabox factories colorfully streamlined with Flash Gordon appliances forcing the Dwarfs into unemployment and foreclosure on their snowy cribs?  A great gift to acknowledge love is one that indicates a friendship treasured, a gratitude so down home, whatever token you feel to bestow on your friend symbolizes you know their heart, you hear them, you listen because you are interested in another person's story.  You cannot fool around with that.  If you pretend, and think you are clever, your gift will symbolize your inaccurate understanding of what this um, friend of yours is really all about.   We must always choose with care, which takes time, there is nothing frantic about the process because it is a pleasure to think about expressing your attention with a symbolic act of love, kindness, authentic assistance in whatever is needed, an object, token, whatever. There is some homily about giving being more rewarding than receiving, some might think it a religious doctrine, but I find it runs deeper, at the gut level where personal sacrifice is not a consideration.


Allow me to acknowledge some of the recent lowlights: Sorry to hear about Mali.  Sorry too, to hear of the Algerian crisis.  Sorry for the innocents suckered into these things.  Outraged MLK Day was shifted from January 15 to partner with the inauguration follies.  I say to them, "You may be baaaaaaad, You may be haaaaaard, You may be totally out of your abusive, twisted backwards, Wetiko skull, but you do NOT mess with the sacred celebrations of our Bredren", we do not mess with theirs, ignoring them is not exactly on the same level as wrapping our moral and compassionate memories in a sequined tutu around the American Flag pole.


The redeeming part of these weeks has been the music.  I came across a radio program out of San Francisco called Hearts of Space.   Its broadcasting as I write this, chimes, theramin, flute, etc..  You'll want to listen Sunday nights outdoors or maybe just in the dark, inside with the starlight pouring in through rectangular shafts.   Also, here are some samples of David Nevue, another excellent find, scroll down for tidbits of  Amazing Grace and the soulful O' Come Emanuel. Nevue's interpretations of well known hymns shows us he is following a path many other musicians left behind, and he does it astoundingly well, its very stirring, emotional in fact. Nevue's tender handling of the music of our childhood Sunday mornings, a visit into the past, may have had to happen in the cycle of our journey so that we could appreciate the roots of the masters, Keith Jarret for example: classical and gospel to jazz-infused psychedelic rock aka The Jimi Hendrix Experience followed by a rebirth into classical masterworks, at every juncture gliding through advancing compositions, interpretations, always reflecting  unique style and sensitivity.  You get the feeling Nevue is also pushing through to another level, breaking some ground, what we hear now won't be where he stays, but its a great ride anywhere you hop on.  These demonstrations of  creative genius call  to us for reasons probably not known even to the most enthusiastic listener..  His bio intimates he is heading into a sort of natural man priesthood as if what he believes he can do for people doesn't need his piano to say it.  We shall see how that goes.  I think his personal style of musical expression says a lot more than he may realize.

... Like if I stopped painting.  If Bholanath stopped drumming.  If Scrap stopped enlightening us.  If Su stopped writing, if neil quit poetry, and so forth.  I use these few of the many talented people reading here as examples of why it is that what we do best is intimately connected to everything else we do.


Someone might ask me where I've been lately.  Heh, I'm not sure myself.  I've reached some kind of plateau that has a vaguely marshmellow feel, time is entirely my own.  I read the news, sometimes, I am affected, but I am not Of The News.  I am here with full responsibility for everything that takes place.  There are a handful of people I desire to see, the rest, well, if we should happen to strike up a friendship, they could be one of the handful too, its always a possibility, but not a requirement based on some public relations material possessed by our ex-ally, the Representative Self.  The RS, by the way, is 100% responsible for the sudden demise of the hapless Hindu gentleman pushed to his death onto the subway tracks as the trains were entering the loading area during the holidays, by a thirty-one-year old freewheeling psycho maniac who was reported to detest Muslims AND Hindus and liked to beat them to a pulp whenever she felt the grotesque urge of fevered violence course through her veins.  On the surface, she is made to appear as something like a one woman Civil War.  Where do you think she absorbed all that hatred?  Proof Beyond the Shadow of a Doubt Side Effect 247-094-859-762A-14,  the perp's influence wallows and swarms in Wetiko pathologies and their bands of willing assassins, accomplices and subgroupies, copywriters, copycats and stupids.  Once again, we see the behaviors of that "Breed without a Soul" wreak havoc on the innocent.  I stand behind my previous statement there would be no crime if there was no war.  It is not a matter of underfunded metal health programs pretending to corral the "lone nuts, fools and schizoids" at all because anyone can be subject to the kind of massive influencing going down disguised as responsible, healthy,  legal and ethical reality blared at you 24/7-365 from every faux churchbell turned cellphone tower, from the very air we breathe and the food we eat.  It is almost impossible to escape unless you happen to be on your guard, which is also called AWARE.

When you are truly aware, all the way, without lapses, you make no conscious effort towards being aware.  You are a fortress unto yourself because you are a child of JahGod on this journey, mending ancient karma, and you have an important mission to get somewhere really good and lasting when this journey in these skins is done.  The Wetikos are just not with us on this issue and that is too bad, their loss.  They will have to come back over and over and go through all the crazy jackass BS again and again until they destroy Earth with all their wanton waste, future foolishness and backfiring technologies rippling outwards through the entire Universe like skipping stones rippling tsunami-style, carrying microbes to swarms of galaxies where the growth of the ripples is unlimited.  Nice work fellas.  I'm sure the Inferno is readying a special heated vault just for you.

If you think its scary now with all the landfills and waterways on the planet in various states of decomposition, war-without-end plundering over the past, belching poison, spawning reproducing swamp creatures, hybrids resembling the human species, the truth is we have seen nothing yet.  

We have had little impact if any.  We have collectively a minus effect which translates into ever more ludicrous attempts to convince us of their correctness in a time when the wrongs, no matter how you look at them, speak for themselves.  Loudly.  They say they are pro-life but all they do is extinguish life in every way annihilation is possible, making any kind of life IMpossible for those who just want live in peace.  That destruction of life as we know, goes far beyond the species of homo sapien of which H.Sapiens are but one of the gazillions of scientifically categorized groupings of all victim cellular structures. They say this is for the best.  They say they have to do it to protect life, but murder, torture, enslavement, extinction is not life.  They say its about growth, that growth is good, but infinite growth as they imagine it is no different that any natural growth, from birth to death, growth itself implies shrinkage as in "There is no beauty without ugliness", no inherent opposite from which all things origininate, exist and are made whole, taking on mental and physical attributes in our consciousness.  The fallacy of the growth ideal is its tenuous bubble gum quality, born from corruption and by its very nature must burst.  That which increases eventually must decrease.

There is a line to be drawn here, how much of it are you going to let involve you?  This is where awareness comes in. Gather as much as you can until you are soaring on auto pilot in an endlessly clear sky.  Even then, a review is always encouraged.


During my absence from blogging, I still saw your blogs and comments and occasionally contributed here and there.  It felt as if it was ok, a non-event, of course I would pick it up when the moment felt right.  I discovered if one ceases doing something that brought desirable interaction with like-minded friends, other things, especially creative expression, wains.  In the act of moving again, four times in less than one year, it feels in many ways that this time in particular I've softly shifted away from much of the ambient planet backwards pressure to join the Denial of Consciousness Movement.  The vacillations of weather this winter dictates much of the experience, its been freezing, people rushing past in the icy winds, heads down, over-clothed, always in a hurry, going nowhere, I mean now just where, what is it, that is so important, that taking a good look at what has happened to us is not and never will be a priority? Everything has changed, but its just another everyday?

The studio is set up now.  I had to  get back into the familiar  "reintegrating without thinking" business of setting up little dropper bottles in lines according to color and shade, laying flat the colored pencils in geographic tones, desert, city, Heaven and Earth.  
The engine that powers this industry is you.

How's it going?

the other side